


and they say (she’s so lucky)

by radiodurans



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, Harry Styles (Musician)
Genre: (LIKE A LOT OF CUM EATING), (specifically those related to the song ‘Lucky’ by Brittany Spears), Alcohol-Fuelled Ugly Cries, Angst, Blowjobs, Cum Eating, Domesticity, Eventual Horniness that Stays Horny, Frottage, Gender Angst, Harry is 19, Horniness That Becomes Un-Horny, Kissing After Midnight, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Harry Styles, Other, Yearning, chest hair kink, handjobs, maybe the real horniness was the melancholy and gender dysphoria we found along the way, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiodurans/pseuds/radiodurans
Summary: Harry kisses frenetically, hungrily, the way Nick remembers kissing when he was nineteen and gay and asphyxiating on his own self-consciousness.OrHarry and Nick listen toLucky.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Nick Grimshaw
Comments: 15
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST GRYLES FIC. This was as un-horny as I thought this particular fic was going to be but not as horny as I thought my first Gryles fic would be. Rest assured, we here at Bio, Inc. are working tirelessly on our horniness improvement initiative to continue writing fics that meet the horniness expectations of our readers.
> 
> Sorry if I got any Britishisms wrong but I’m so told that your tiny island colonized the states in the first place so maybe the real Britishisms were the Americanisms we met along the way.
> 
> It’s implied Harry is non-binary in this but not talked about in detail enough for me to tag it that way. KEEN READERS AND THOSE WITH TASTE WILL SEE IT.
> 
> ETA: Haha jk porn in chapter two YOU’RE WELCOME HEATHENS
> 
> Please do not send Mx. Harry Styles this fic. Any resemblance to persons living or dead are coincidental yadda yadda etc. I make no claims about Harry Styles' actual sexuality or gender within this story. Think of it as a roman a clef with the real names still tacked on.

It’s three in the morning by the time Harry and Nick are finished with their drunk carousing about town. They stumble together across the cobblestones near Nick’s flat arm in arm, laughing at nothing and everything. When they finally arrive, Harry slumps face first against the coarse brick building. Nick nudges him fondly with his foot.

“Careful, pop star. Can’t be responsible for the loss of that pretty face.”

Harry groans dramatically in protest but concedes in un-slumping himself. He winces when the brick obviously tugs away a few strands of his hair.

(One day the cynical animal that makes up thirty percent of Nick’s personality is going to set off a fatal bomb in his gut to avoid existing next to any more thoughts of Harry Styles and his soft hair, and his overlarge hands, and, and -)

“I am more than just a pretty face you know,” Harry says as Nick jiggles the key in the lock.

“Course you are. But it helps,” says Nick. He pushes the door open and pulls Harry inside of the apartment where, according to the tabloids, he spends more time than at his own house.

Well – the _Daily Mail_ gets it right every once in a while. Cheers to the paparazzi, those clever snakes, and all that.

Up the stairs they go, hands touching, feet tripping, bodies radiating heat. When they finally get inside Nick’s apartment, Harry pins him against the just-closed door. Nick thinks he’s going to kiss him – Harry’s half-hard against his leg, for one – but instead, he tucks his nose into Nick’s neck and just breathes. After a few moments of solid nose-on-neck action, Lex gives a full-chested bark from his crate.

“Not to disrupt the exploration of this new kink of yours but would you mind letting Lex out of his crate?” says Nick.

Harry pulls away sheepishly and heads over to Lex’s crate. The dog, sensing freedom via Harry Styles, barks even more enthusiastically.

“Not a new kink,” he says as he fusses with the grate. “I just like the way you smell. Always have.”

Nick hums thoughtfully, shrugs off his jacket, drops his keys on a side table, and kicks off his shoes. Lex bounds out of the crate, nearly toppling Harry, and begins licking every inch of him. When the two have sufficiently settled onto the couch – _without him_ , Jesus Christ – Nick says, “Harold – your shoes?”

Harry slides off his shoes and kicks them across the tile like the princess he is. He curls his feet up onto the couch and rests his head on top of Lex. Nick picks up the shoes – _hideous_ purple trainers – and deposits them next to his own. The sight of them next to each other, like friends, makes him feel too soft to complain about Harry not bringing them to the door himself.

“Play a song, Sue?” says Harry. He pulls a blanket over himself on the couch and stares expectantly.

“I’m to be a DJ off the clock too?” says Nick as though his Spotify isn’t already open to _Daily Mix 1 – featuring ABBA, Britney Spears, Carly Rae Jepson, Spice Girls –_

Harry gives him a lazy smile.

“That’s the trade-off for shagging me. You have to pick the music,” he says. Nick lets out a high-pitched giggle that surprises even himself.

“You say that like you don’t have the worst whiskey dick on earth,” he says. Then, he presses ‘shuffle playlist’ and sits down on the couch next to his –

Next to _Harry_.

As _Gimme, Gimme, Gimme!_ begins to play, Harry cracks an enormous grin and sits up. His eyes, hazy with drunkenness and exhaustion, grow more alert.

“ _Oh_ – this playlist is dancey.”

“You wanted to shag to a dirge?” says Nick. Harry grabs Nick’s collar, then his neck, then his face.

“Well, to be honest, I’d shag you to anything. But dancey is better, yeah,” he says. Then he pulls Nick in for a kiss.

Harry kisses frenetically, hungrily, the way Nick remembers kissing when he was nineteen and gay and asphyxiating on his own self-consciousness. He’s the only partner Nick has ever had who will kiss him to standing, to a slow dance, to a heavy grind. They can’t touch each other like this at the clubs – not with the paps around – so Harry makes it count here, grabbing Nick’s ass, breathing hot against his chest, throwing back his head to expose the pale line of his neck. Nick clings to Harry’s back, feeling up his sharp shoulder blades. He’s still young and soft but he’s been working out, Nick can tell. Harry’s going to be thick, someday.

The song changes.

_Dun-dun-du-nuh-dun-dun. This is a story about a girl named Lucky._

Nick and Harry freeze at the same time. Harry’s hand, gripped in his own, trembles a little. His mouth is hot and wet against Nick’s neck.

_Early morning she wakes up with a knock – knock – knock on her door –_

“Well, this song is dead unsexy,” says Nick, heart pounding. “Sorry about that, love, it’s a generated list – I didn’t mean to – I’ll change –”

“No,” says Harry with a shaky voice when Nick tries to move away. “It’s okay. We can keep, um –”

_And they say, “She’s so lucky! She’s a star!”_

He doesn’t finish his thought before crumpling in on Nick and muffling a heart-wrenching wail into his chest. Nick stares up at the ceiling, rubbing his back, trying to think of _anything_ good to say to a nineteen-year-old pop star ugly-crying to a song sung by the poster child of teen pop stars with unhappy endings. He has the privilege of often forgetting that Harry carries this sort of weight around with him all the time. His – _Harry_ doesn’t usually talk to him about it in a way that’s not tongue-in-cheek or well after the fact.

It works for them, except for when it doesn’t.

“Harry?” says Nick when the track finally, mercifully ends. He runs his fingers through the dense patch of hair tickling the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry shivers and emits a little anguished snuffle that breaks Nick’s heart clean in two.

“Jesus. I’m sorry, Nick, I –” He pulls away and wipes a clean line of tears and snot diagonally off his face with the palm of his hand. Then, seeing the mess, he makes a face of deep disgust. “Can I have a tissue or something?”

“Course, yeah,” says Nick. He hurriedly grabs a box of them from the toilet and returns to find Harry lying on his back and looking absolutely despondent on his couch. Stray tears are leaking out of his eyes like a broken faucet. Lex, ever the empath, adjusts his head to rest it on Harry’s chest. Harry scratches Lex’s head fondly.

“Good dog,” he mumbles.

Nick sits down next to Harry’s feet and raises them onto his lap. He hands Harry a couple of tissues and then rests the box on the arm of the couch.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he says, massaging Harry’s ankle, “but do you want to talk about it?”

Harry shakes his head as he blows his nose. Seeing no local rubbish bin, he rolls the foul tissue onto Nick’s coffee table.

For now, he’ll allow it.

“Do you _need_ to talk about it?” revises Nick. Harry lets the air sit dead for a moment, pondering.

“Maybe. But I _shouldn’t_ need to is the thing, yeah?”

 _Fuck_ , Nick is so bad at this.

“I suppose it depends on what you’re feeling blue about. Britney herself – trust you can work through that cultural grief on your own. But if it’s about, you know – _your_ situation. Then I think you’ll not be the first to need to talk about this. As evidenced by, well – what got us here.”

Harry exhales a frustrated sigh. He wipes his hands off with another tissue and topples it onto the coffee table as well.

“I try to not think about stuff like this. That a lot of people – they’re just waiting to see which one of us in the band will be the next _her_. Feel so anxious about fucking things up just at like. . .a low level all the time, you know? I can put all of the reasons I feel that way squared away into boxes in my mind, but I can’t get rid of the anxiety that I’m the one who is going to ruin everything.”

Nick rubs his thumb into the sole of Harry’s foot. He’s rarely seen Harry look so miserable.

“You’re not gonna fuck it up. Everyone loves you,” he says.

Harry cranes his neck back so far it looks like it might hurt a little.

“Everyone loves me _for now_. You should know better than anyone that _people like me_ get eaten alive for being –”

Harry tilts his head off to the side and skates his nails across Nick’s floor. For the first time, he notices a hint of bright blue griming up Harry’s cuticles. Nail polish, past-tense.

“I’m sorry,” says Nick.

“It’s not your fault,” says Harry. He rubs roughly at his eye in exhaustion. “I can deal with hiding my relationships cos the other boys do too, sometimes. It’s just – the _other stuff_ about _people like me_ that I’m worried is just going to ruin –”

He pulls his fingers away from his eye and inspects his nails, frowning.

“Have you got on nail polish?” asks Nick as gently as he can. Still, Harry flinches.

“ _Had_. Probably for the best – wasn’t my color,” he says.

About a thousand questions of various forms and intensities branch off of that statement alone. Nick, however, is far too tired and far too English for any of them.

“Ah, well. I’m sure you’ll find it someday.”

Harry’s eyes smile just a little. Then he yawns enormously.

“Can I stay in your bed or will you make me sleep on the couch with the dog like they’re reporting in the _Daily Mail_?”

 _This_ – Nick can do. He swings Harry’s legs off of his own and puts his hands on his hips.

“You know, the _Daily Mail_ is also reporting that you have a whole house mere blocks from here.”

Harry pushes Lex’s head off his chest and gets to his feet. He grabs Nick’s hands and swings them gently.

“I know. But you’re not in it,” he says.

Nick kisses him. Harry’s lips taste like saline, like cherry lipgloss, like all the things they don’t know how to talk about yet. Harry leans into the kiss with a hum. When Nick pulls away, Harry lets out a small cry of disappointment.

“You can stay in the bed,” says Nick. “But one wrong kick in the middle of the night and I’ll make sure the _Daily Mail_ ’s reportage is spot-on from here on in.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn porn porn porn porn porn porn porn porn!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t resist and I’m NOT sorry.

Nick sleeps a maximum of three hours before his unfailing internal clock forgets that it’s the weekend and wakes him up before sunrise. He’s wedged tight between Harry and the dog, who both managed to argue their way into his bed. Neither of them smell terribly pleasant but both of them make him feel terribly fond. Lex senses his alertness first and immediately thumps his tail against the bed. He lets out a low whine that tells Nick he has t-10 seconds to grab a leash, stumble outside in his pants, and hope nobody arrests him for public indecency while his dog is just trying to have a wee. Harry, dead to the world, doesn’t stir as Nick quietly slides out of bed. Touring with four other boys has made him immune to most sleep disruptions. Lucky lad.

Lex bounds down the stairs with the proper enthusiasm of a new(ish) pup. He steers Nick towards a flower patch that he really shouldn’t be having a wee on, but Nick is too bleary-eyed to care. It’s barely morning and there are plenty of other misbehaved dogs in the building on whom to blame flower-related piss mishaps to his prissy neighbor two doors down. After a few cheery barks at a nearby squirrel, Nick decides he’s had enough of outside.

“You want something to eat?” he says. Lex’s ears perk up. He yanks Nick back into the building, up the stairs, and into the flat. Apparently, he hadn’t been as quiet as he thought, because Harry is waiting for him in the living room. He yawns and rubs his eye with his fist.

“Hullo,” he says in a gravelly voice that is far too seductive to be carrying _one word_. Harry is half-hard in his trackies and his hair is stuck up in one corner and, for the kicker, he’s put on one of Nick’s torn-up t-shirts for warmth.

“Hullo,” says Nick, trying to will down his erection as he removes Lex’s chain from his collar. “Go back to bed, Hazza, it’s too early.”

“Can’t. Lex will be hungry if I don’t feed him first,” says Harry. He opens the plastic box at the far corner of the room that holds the dog food and pours some into Lex’s bowl. The dog scutters over and eats up the food. Harry smiles and scratches him between his shoulder blades.

“And how did you know he hasn’t already eaten? He’s on a strict diet, you know. Trying to impress a female chihuahua in 3B,” says Nick.

“Lex never eats before he goes out. ‘Else he’ll go on the carpet,” says Harry.

He walks over, wraps his arms around Nick’s waist, and buries his face in his chest hair. Nick lays a kiss on the top of his head.

It’s all _terribly_ domestic.

“When did you become an expert on his schedule? Have you been stalking me, Harold?” says Nick. Harry slides his hand onto Nick’s ass and gives it a firm squeeze. He gives Nick a wet kiss under the ear, then bites the lobe for good measure.

“Maybe,” he says with a roll of the hips. He kisses down Nick’s chin and chest, grasping and pulling on Nick’s chest hair in the way Nick likes it – rough. Some feverish part of Nick considers hoisting Harry up, bridal style, and carrying him into the bedroom. Then, a poorly-timed thrust reminds him that his knee caps are well on their way to a mid-century replacement.

“Bedroom. Lex doesn’t need to see this,” says Nick. Harry practically sprints there, throwing himself on the bed so hard that Nick is surprised it doesn’t break in half. Nick shuts the door behind him with his foot so that the dog doesn’t get a show with his dinner. Then he assists in the delightful task of removing Harry’s stretchy knickers. Harry starts breathing heavily as soon as Nick has pulled them down to his ankles.

“Right eager, are we?” says Nick. He tosses Harry’s trackies to the floor and gives him a kiss behind the knee. From here, he can see the outline of Harry’s thick erection through his pants. He kisses up Harry’s leg and pauses at the crease between his thighs and his bollocks. Nick slowly swipes his tongue over the cotton which makes Harry inhale with a sharp hiss. He lives for indirect contact, Nick knows, the thrill of a tongue almost pressed to skin. In fact, he often seems to prefer it to Nick touching his cock _at all_. Case in point – his frantic pull on Nick’s sleeve when Nick tucks a few curious fingers under the seam of his underpants.

“No, no. C’mere – kiss me.”

Not for the first time, Nick feels a twinge of disappointment that Harry doesn’t enjoy being sucked off. Harry’s cock is as beautiful as the rest of him – heavy and musky with a delightfully pliable foreskin. He got to feel it on his tongue once and then never again, a lovely experience with such a melancholy aftermath that he feels a little guilty having wanked to it numerous times. Still, he isn’t one to refuse when Harry is begging for anything. Nick moves his ministrations away from Harry’s cock and works on kissing up, up, up on top of the shirt formerly known as his own. He kisses the thin fabric past Harry’s ferns and over his moth and through his sparrows until he reaches his – _Harry’s_ face. Harry’s eyes shine as he kisses a smile into Nick’s mouth.

They snog for a while, taking their time in stripping down to skin-on-skin. Both of them went to bed so late and got up so early that they might as well still be sloshed. He feels this exhaustion in the steady flow of Harry’s movements underneath him. The way his cheeks taste bitter from leftover sweat and salty from leftover tears. Harry grabs and un-grabs his hand as though he can’t find the proper tone for their encounter. Nick fixates on the ghost of blue on Harry’s fingernails when Harry kisses down his neck, leaving their entwined hands exposed. In the morning light, he can tell that it left a faint stain.

It isn’t long after they become naked that Harry’s breath comes in fits and starts. His cock is hot and hard against Nick’s thigh, exuding enough pre-cum to ease the slide of it against his skin. He becomes a bit of a pillow princess like this, which Nick would mind more if getting to see Harry Styles cum wasn’t one of the great blessings in his life. Harry kisses him back, but barely; he scratches Nick’s back, but barely; he dances his fingers along Nick’s cock in a curious way. Nick gives him a love bite on the neck to get his attention.

“D’you want to cum like this or –”

“Too close for ‘or,’” says Harry, hoarsely. “I just need – and then –”

 _Then I’ll suck you off_ is implied. The mental image always makes him feel a bit faint.

“Do you need a bit of room to touch yourself?” says Nick, sliding his leg an inch away from Harry’s cock. Harry, nods, reaches his fingers down, and grabs hold of the base. His fingernails still manage to scratch the inside of Nick’s thigh as he starts to aggressively pull himself off. Perhaps too aggressively – his eyes scrunch up as though he’s trying to race to the finish line. Nick gently strokes Harry’s hip.

“Easy, love. I know I’ll get mine.”

Harry’s breath eases.

“Ok,” he says, as though re-centering himself. Harry splays his palm out on his cock, flat as a starfish, and rolls his hips into it like a –

Well, not like a _dick_. Nick has had the grand pleasure of having his dick roughly handled many a time by one Harold E. Styles and it looks _nothing_ like this. Harry’s body undulating, the bed rumbling quietly underneath him. How his exhalations are colored by a soft, rhythmic, high-pitched squeak. Nick holds him by the hips as he moves against his own hand, helping him keep a steady angle.

“You’re so beautiful,” says Nick, because he can’t help himself when Harry looks like this. Then, he leans down, and gives a love bite to Harry’s left nipple. “Beautiful tits,” he adds cheekily.

It shouldn’t surprise him that that’s what makes Harry cum – bit of a _vain_ streak on her for sure – but he regrets, a little, that he didn’t time it better. Harry’s cum is splashed on Nick’s chest and neck, a dirty-sexy Jackson Pollock ooze that he’d rather have on a part of his body where he didn’t have so much hair. He looks up at Harry who, of course, is absolutely _radiant_ post shooting-off-into-Nick’s-chest-hair. Harry runs a tight hand through his wild, sweaty hair with dazed eyes.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. Then, spotting the mess on Nick’s chest, he says, “ _Fuck,_ ” in a much more apologetic tone and turns bright red. “Oh God, Nick, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” says Nick as he runs his fingers through a particularly troublesome patch of cum. He pulls his hand away and squishes it in his palm. “Would’ve appreciated a bit of a warning but I realize that can be difficult with your. . .stamina.”

Nick gives the cum puddle another little squish for emphasis. Harry giggles, a breathy, hysterical thing. Every time Harry cums he looks like he believes that he _invented_ cumming and is letting Nick in on a naughty little secret.

“I can help you clean up,” says Harry, grabbing Nick’s wrist. He flashes Nick a wicked grin and bites his tongue seductively. Clarity returns to his eyes – the prey becomes the predator. Nick’s whole body shivers with want; he knows where this is going.

“How?” says Nick, shakily.

“This, for a start,” says Harry. He filthily licks Nick’s entire cum-filled palm. As a follow-up, he sucks each finger clean with truly unnecessary attention to detail. Every so often he gives Nick a – _this could be you_ – sort of face coupled with a tight suction that would make Nick roll his eyes with its lack of subtlety if he wasn’t so desperately hard. By the time he’s done lathing Nick’s hand like a madman, he’s on his knees and staring hungrily at the cum on Nick’s chest and at his cock.

“Can I?” he says quietly, as though diving face first into his own cum borders on a religious experience. Nick, bowled over by the sight of Harry Styles _eating his own cum_ , decides to act like it. He flops heavily onto his back and spreads his legs wide.

“Do whatever you like,” he says. Harry nods and strokes his body with trembling fingers. How odd, to be on the receiving end of such tenderness from a person with thousands of fans who all look at Harry the way he’s looking at Nick right now.

“Gonna eat my cum off of your chest,” he says, moving between Nick’s legs. Nick, totally incoherent at this point, gives him a thumbs-up. Then, Harry leans down and begins to lick Nick’s chest. The cum is already cooling, so he has to occasionally use his teeth as he moves across Nick’s chest and down to his cock. Nick’s skin thrums at the pleasure-pain; later, he’ll have red-raw patches of his skin. His hands are on Nick’s cock by the time his mouth has reached his navel. He moans when the sweat of his hand slaps against Nick’s skin as though it’s his _own_ cock being touched rather than someone else’s.

“I love –” he says, rolling his face into Nick’s thigh. Nick’s chest clenches tight; then, Harry seems to collect himself. “I love your cock.”

Harry rubs his chin up the entire length of Nick’s cock. His hot breath makes Nick’s thighs tremble. Thankfully, he doesn’t tease. Harry hangs his tongue out of his mouth and sloppily licks a stripe from the base to the head. He cups Nick’s balls as he sucks on the head, thumbing the slit of his cock with his tongue. Harry sucks on him so enthusiastically that a mixture of saliva and pre-cum leaks down Nick’s cock every time he pulls up to the head. His fingernails dig into the meat of Nick’s thigh every time he slides down his cock with a noisy slurp. Harry’s lack of a gag reflux is _ridiculous_ so he allows Nick’s cock to bump at the back of his throat. _Fuck_ , Nick’s not going to last much longer.

“Can I cum in your –”

“Mhm,” says Harry. He pulls up on Nick’s cock and jerks the base against his own face. _Slap, slap, slap, slap!_ And Nick thinks, too – _I love, I love, I love, I love_ – but says nothing when he cums hard into Harry’s mouth.

When Harry pulls off, his mouth is still full. In contrast to his earlier enthusiastic cum eating, he looks a little uncomfortable. Harry cups his hand and spits the cum into it.

“Sorry, there’s just – so much,” he says. Harry swallows hard and licks some extra cum and spit off of his lips. “Have a limit on cum eating, apparently. You want –”

Nick throws his head back on the pillow, laughs, and rubs his hand over his face. He leans over and grabs a couple tissues from the side table.

“Oh, _Jesus_. No,” he says, handing Harry the tissues. “Clean up and kiss me.”

Harry hurriedly wipes his hands and his face and then throws his entire weight on top of Nick so hard that it knocks some of the air out of his chest. He digs his (still-wet) fingers into Nick’s hair and kisses him tongue-first so that Nick can taste himself. The whole line of his body quakes. Nick rolls them onto the side and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist.

“Are they feeding you enough, your handlers?” says Nick. Harry never seems _thin_ because he’s muscular in quite a compact way. Still, the size of his waist is surprising – on someone less built it might be cause for concern. He wraps his arms around Harry a little tighter.

“Yeah. I just turn it all into muscle. Gotta stay in tip-top shape for the stage,” he says. Harry rests his head on Nick’s wet chest. He wraps his arms around Nick’s waist and squeezes his butt. “I could give you pointers, if you like.”

“No, ta. I’m not trying to project my abs into arena cheap seats,” says Nick.

“You make it sound like I only work the glamour muscles,” says Harry. He entwines their ankles; his soft cock rubs against Nick’s inner thigh. Outside his window, a songbird starts chirping. He thinks, _tomorrow morning, I will be alone._

“You _mostly_ work the glamour muscles,” he says, because he can’t say – _tomorrow morning, will you be alone too?_ He knows the answer Harry would give, and the one he would mean, and he can’t do that to their morning. Harry has cried enough for one weekend, thank you very much.

He yawns into Nick’s neck and flutters his eyes closed.

“You love it.”

The exhaustion finally hits Nick like a truck. He shuts his eyes and buries his nose in Harry’s hair.

“Yeah. I do.”


End file.
